strangers
by 2degreesabovefreezing
Summary: Lovino's music was missing one thing...him. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the optimistic busker who changed his life in ways he never could have guessed. Love can be lost as easily as it's found, especially when it's found by two broken-hearted kids still trying to find their way in life. A slice-of-life tale about the healing power of music, based off the award winning musical Once.
1. Act 1

STRANGERS

_Act One_

I had just gotten a call from my ex so understandably, I was in something of a suicidal mood. Picking up the phone and hearing that voice insinuates that my day is going to go horribly.

The air was cold and dry, my hands were jammed into my empty pockets, and I was hungry. I had been shuffling home and cursing all the while for the last fifteen minutes. The bars around this area in Dublin would kick you out pretty early if you started holler'n and scrapping with people who just wanted to keep their peace. I hated this damn country. I didn't want to be there. I came once, met my ex, lost all my money, they left, and I was stuck. The whole place was just a big piece of shit.

Even the busker on the corner was a piece of shit. He was tall and ungroomed, his clothes tattered, his guitar case laying open at his feet as he strummed hard on his guitar and shouted out his passionate lyrics. I had always seen the stranger when I walked through on my way home but not until today did I think to call out to the man. Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding my brain or perhaps it was the growing bitterness in my mood but nonetheless, I shuffled up to him and made my opinions clear.

"You suck." I called over the noise. He stopped playing and looked at me curiously. The poor sap's hair was in need of a trim and his jacket could use the touch of a tailor but he wasn't overall too terrible to the eyes, much to my dismay. Unfortunately, he was better looking than me and somewhat intimidation for that reason. "Why do you have to play so damn loudly? What time is it?" I checked my wristwatch. "_It's ten at night_. Don't you ever think that you might be waking up the folks around here?"

He smiled as if I hadn't just insulted him, he smiled like a god damn prince. "No, it's fine. Nobody will wake up while I play. In this neighborhood, people are good at sleeping." His words were thickly laced with Spanish influence. "In other neighborhoods…it was not good like this."

"I see you out here every day," I mentioned, "Why don't you play your loud music then? Why wait until everyone's asleep?"

"When it's day, people want to hear music that they know from…from…" He snapped his fingers for a moment, scrambling for a word that was right on the tip of his tongue. "Radio! People want to hear music that they hear on the radio… music that they _know_."

I took a quick look around. The place was completely desolate and only a few stores still ventured to have their lights on, attracting the night-life-scum and insomniacs out into the quiet and tired heart of Dublin. "So these songs are your songs then, yeah?" I asked, giving my attention back to the busker.

"Yeah, I wrote them."

"Why not get a job in a shop? Beats being a nuisance."

"_I have_ a job in a shop." He countered, a playful smile prominent on his face.

"Where?"

"Here." He gestured all around. "Stores give me paper and I give the papers to people. I tell them about the deals and sales and whatnot."

"Why do you still do this then?"

"Play?"

"Yeah."

"I want to make music. This makes me happy."

"You're not very good at it, it seems." I counted a total of six euro in his up-facing, fabric case. In fact, the public seemed to believe he was piss-awful. "That's from today?"

"That's what I got." He took a moment to survey the town as well before finding another giddy smile to flash at me. _"Give me ten cent?"_

"What? Now you're a beggar?"

"You listen to my song, ten cent fee."

"Even if I gave you ten cents, you wouldn't have a hell of a lot more than you already do." I motioned back at the lonely coins he had earned.

"You don't have money?"

"No. No money." I pulled one of my jacket pockets inside-out as evidence.

"You have a job in a shop?"

"Yeah."

"What Shop?"

"Uh…I'm a hoover repair man over on Phibsborough."

"Hoover?"

"Y'know, like a vacuum cleaner?" I gripped my hand on an invisible handle and scooted it back and forth.

"_You fix vacuum cleaners!?_"

"Yeah."

"_I_ have a broken vacuum cleaner!" He thought about this happy coincidence for a minute, putting the pieces together. "I bring it tomorrow?"

"Bring it _here_?"

"Yes, yes! I bring my hoover and you fix it!"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Doesn't suck."

"Look, you'd have to bring it by the shop. I won't have me tools." I bit my lip once the words had left my mouth and corrected myself, "_My_ tools." Damn Ireland.

"I don't know where the shop is." The busker mentioned.

"Phibsborough." I repeated and pointed in the direction I was coming from. "You're new here, are ya?"

"Yes. So…I bring it _here_." He insisted.

"Why can't you just bring it to the shop?" I asked, slightly agitated.

"I'd get lost. I'll bring it here."

"You can't bring it, I wouldn't have my tools on me." What was I doing arguing with this bum!? I should have just walked away.

He smiled and nodded to me as if we were both in on some sort of secret. "I bring it here."

I grumbled. Foreigners are always idiots, especially the one in question. Judging by the loosely curled brown hair, tanned skin and poor fashion taste, I assumed a Spanish nation. "Where'd you come from?"

"_Spain_~" He said it poetically like the reminiscent name of a past lover. "Spain is my home."

"Why'd you leave? It wasn't to be a famous musician, I hope." I bit my lip and wondered why I was still talking to the guy. He had a way of making you talk.

"No, no. I come here because it was time to change. Time to see new things, meet new people. What about you? You are not Irish, _I can tell_."

"Italian, God's chosen people."

"Why you come here?"

"A business deal. A buddy of mine was going to hook me up with a job in his family's printing business."

"And?"

"He's gone."

"Dead?" His face suddenly became that of concern.

"No. He fell through, his family disowned him, I got nothing."

"But now you are here! This is perfect!"

"How so?" I spat, venom in my tone. Was he trying to mock my bad fortune?

"I have a broken hoover and you _fix_ hoovers! It is fate!"

"It's not fate, it's coincidence but I don't suppose you know what that means."

"It means that many things have happened so that we would be right here right now. We are meant to meet!" He slid his guitar around so that it hung behind his back and jutted out a hand at me. "I'm called Antonio."

I shook it out of instinct. Normally, I wouldn't even encourage such a stupid behavior. I must have been considerably drunk.

"Your name?" He asked, not letting my hand free.

"Oh, uh, Lovino."

"Lovino…" He said, just to sound it out before releasing his grip. "We meet here tomorrow, I bring my hoover, okay?"

"I won't have my tools on me!" I protested to no avail.

He laughed and patted my arm in _old-pal_ sort of way. "You should go home now. You have been drinking, no?"

"_A few shots_, it's none of your concern!"

"Go to your home, Lovino."

"Damn you. You're a fantastic pain in my ass, is what you are." Begrudgingly, I jammed my hand back into my pocket and shuffled onward, regretting my decision to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the first place. I was damn grateful to leave, I didn't need more idiots in my life.

"Tomorrow!" He called behind me once I had reached the end of the street. I extended my middle finger and raised it high with pride. At least he had taken my mind off the call for a little while, that much he was good for.

As I made my way home, I had a feeling he'd find me tomorrow and from then on, I'd only see more and more of him. Regardless of if that was a good thing or not, I knew I didn't have a choice. Antonio was going to make himself a reoccurring figure in my life and I was going to have to deal with it like I deal with all the other shit that seemed to accumulate in my life. A drunken decision can lead to a five minute conversation and a five minute conversation can lead to a persistent asshole.

What I _didn't_ know was that a persistent asshole can, _under the right circumstances_, lead to something much more troubling.

I didn't get much sleep that night. My roommate, Matt, was being a fuck'n idiot. He said that he needed to sleep with a window open because he had a fever. I tried to close it when I thought he wouldn't be paying attention but every attempt I made at warming the house a degree or two was foiled within ten minutes. September nights will bite you in the ass.

I was out of the house earlier than usual because I had to pick up groceries. We always ran out of god damn toilet paper and Matt used up all my batteries like he was trying to power a space shuttle or something. Before I left, I grabbed my CD player so I could be sure I got the right kind of batteries. I didn't want to say anything to Antonio, but I wrote my own music too. Most of it was fueled by anger and bitterness and heartbreak and almost all of them were still unfinished so I recorded myself playing them once an put them on a CD so I could listen and perfect them. They were nobody's business but my own.

The paper predicted light showers for the day which had already begun to come down, making it a pain in the ass for me to crowd myself into a subway car with all the working ladies who tried desperately to keep dry on the way to the office. At the store, I picked up a set of double A's and a frozen single-serving chicken chow mein for breakfast. "How much?" I asked and plopped the merchandise down on the counter, reaching for the crumbled bills in my pocket.

"Eleven." The cashier responded flatly, pushing keys on the register. That woke me out of my sleepy haze almost immediately.

"Eleven euro!? You've got to be fuck'n mad!" I cried.

"Look, I didn't make the prices."

"It's mutany!"

"Do you want it or not?" The clerk demanded. I supposed a man in his profession didn't have a lot of patience for people complaining over prices.

"Fine, fine." I dug into my pocket, dishing out crumbled bills and coins onto the countertop. "_I'm going to be fuck'n broke_." I grumbled bitterly, secretly hoping it would give him some sort of guilt.

But no such luck. He counted out the change. "You're short. Ten cent."

"For Chrissake, _it's just ten cent_." That stiff, old, man was getting on my nerves like something awful. I know I'm no petunia but I usually tried my best to contain myself.

"_Your short_." He repeated, annunciating each syllable perfectly.

I grumbled and rummaged through all of my pockets but found nothing. I'd just have to talk him down. Words will buy what money can't, right? "Look, I'm broke, kay? You understand, don't you? Everyone's damn broke these days, right? My job is paying shit right now and I just need a little break every once in a wh-"

He held up the merchandise. "Pick."

"_It's ten cent!_ You wouldn't make me drop one over ten cent!"

"If I took ten cent off every purchase, I'd be broke too."

"You're obviously not so just cut me some slack! What's ten cents anyways? It's sidewalk change! Just a filthy coin! No one would notice if it were there or not!"

"_Pick_."

"_It's only ten cents_, ya' fuck'n crook!"

"Pick _or leave_."

Before I could open my mouth to spit back a rage of insults, a hand was brought down beside me and I heard the _clink_ of change hitting the counter top. I looked over. The hand was big and tan and badly calloused, protected by a dirty, fingerless, glove.

Fuck'n perfect. "Are you stalking me?" I growled at the familiar face who only smiled back and picked up his hand, revealing the little golden coin.

"Ten cent." He beamed. "You need it?"

"Not from _you_."

"Oh, my mistake." He picked up the coin back up, tauntingly.

"Wait, wait!"

He froze, grinning ear to ear like a god damn idiot. "You need ten cents?"

"_Yes_, I need ten cents."

"Okay~" He set it back down. The clerk looked at us like we were total fuckheads but accepted the coin and completed my purchase none the less. There was nothing I could do to stop myself from making faces at him all the while. He didn't mind. He just continued pressing buttons then handed me a plastic bag, curtsy of the ridiculously pricey corner store.

"Can I use your microwave?" I asked, pulling out my meal.

"Fourty cents."

"What!? I just paid you eleven euro! Doesn't that cover it?"

"Fourty cents." He repeated.

Antonio tugged on my arm, earning my attention. "I have microwave to own. Let's go."

"But this guy's a fuck'n crook! He's ripping me off!"

"Prices are prices and if you don't like them then you can get out." The clerk objected. Antonio took me out of there by force after lunged at the counter and swung at the cashier.

"Lovino." He said, trying to calm me down. "I will cook your food. All better, All fixed."

"It's a fuck'n joke."

"Joke?"

"Everything's just fuck'n perfect, yeah? It's all fixed because you're so damn happy, yeah? Well, _fuck_, Antonio!" I kicked a cardboard box that was minding its own business outside the shop front with frustration, sending it tumbling for a few yards. Life's a fuck'n asshole. I'm tired, I'm broke and beaten and dumped, I'm the worst kind of person there is. Why the fuck can't people just leave me in peace!

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I lied. I didn't want to cry but I had the tendency to drop a few tears out of frustration every once in a while. Antonio seemed to understand.

"I know what's wrong. Today is a bad day for you." He tentivley touched my arm and I, in return, ripped it away with hostility.

"Piss off, okay? I'm going home." I tucked my bag under my arm and began to walk but that damn bastard he stood in my way. Dammit! I quickly wiped away the pearly tear that had begun to roll down my face. I was having a shit day and Antonio wasn't doing anything to make it better.

"No, no, no! I know what will make today a good day." He handed me a brochure out of his bag. "Island vacation! Rates have never been better!"

I looked at it and scoffed. "I can't afford a box of dehydrated vegetables much less some sandy-ass shack on a beach."

"Not a shack!" He pointed enthusiastically at the photo on the brochure where the electric blue water foamed and crawled up on the beach. Tall, thin, trees, stood prideful like pillars, offering patches of shade over the white sand.

"Bull shit." It looked like the product of a frustrated nine-to-fiver's imagination. If you sat in a pasty cubical for eight hours, this is the image you would concoct to make reality seem a little less bitter. It didn't actually exist, it was just a work of Photoshop in its finest hour. "Look, I don't need your brochure. Save it." I threw it back at him and tried to push on towards my home but I was followed.

He stuffed it back into his faded messenger bag. "You want to go to my place, then? To make your food?"

"I need to go home."

"Why?"

"So I can eat this, dammit! I don't need your help anymore so just piss off and bug someone else, okay?"

"But I thought you said you didn't have a microwave?"

I halted. Dammit…._dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!_ I couldn't stop myself from crying anymore. Why was everything such a challenge!? Why did nothing work for me!? I hated that stupid job and the stupid roommate! I hated that shitty microwave, that shitty country, and my shitty life! Dammit!

For the first time in years, someone gave a shit when I cried. He laid his hand softly on my shoulder and smiled at me. "Lovino… come to my place, okay? I'll make you some coffee and… we have a TV to watch fútbol."

"Kay." I answered after a minute. I felt drained, I didn't want to go home and after all, what good was a frozen box of cheap noodles? "I used to have one at my place but it blew out." I explained, leading the attention away from my red eyes. I used my sleeve to clean up the last of the wetness. Antonio calmed me down and I couldn't say how.

He began to walk and I followed. "Blew out?"

"I had it running at the same time as the stove and it blew out the electricity. The building manager fixed electricity but the microwave never worked again. The whole place is shit, that's the kind of thing you expect when you move in to a place like that."

"Mine works. The stove does not."

"What happened to it?"

"Self-cleaning setting. I tried it but it set itself on fire."

"Just like that? Spontaneous combustion?"

"No, I was listening to the radio outside and I didn't notice until the glass broke and… flames came out." He admitted with slight embarrassment.

"Jesus Christ! You could have sued the manufacturers or something!"

"No one got hurt. It was fine."

"You're so chill about everything. It could have lit your house on fire, then what?"

"Then I need a new house."

I grumbled to myself. "_Christ_."

"Are you getting wet?" He asked.

"Hm? No, it's just barely coming right down." I glanced up into the drizzling, gray sky.

"It rains much in Italy?"

"Not as much as it does here. Italy was very sunny."

"You want to go back?"

"Can't afford it."

"If you could afford, would you go?"

"Absolutely."

"You have family in Italy?"

"Just my brother."

"_You have a brother_? I do too! I have three brothers and two sisters."

"Geez! No wonder you wanted to move."

He laughed. "They are all good brothers. I do not leave because of them."

"That's right. You said something about meeting new people, wasn't that it?"

"You remembered!"

"Of course I remember! It was only yesterday when you said it."

"Yes but you only remember if you care."

"That's stupid."

"Do you remember the brand of your toothpaste?"

I thought about it. "No but _nobody_ remembers stuff like that."

"At least I am more important than your toothpaste."

"But you're a _stranger_ and I see my toothpaste _every day_."

"I'm not a stranger!" He seemed offended by this accusation even though it was completely justifiable.

"Yes you are! I've only just met you."

"But you know my name and we have met two times. People who are strangers do not know each other. We know each other. We are friends."

"We're not friends."

"Yes we are."

"No we're not."

"Yes, we're." He stopped walking in front of a music shop. "We stop here for a minute?"

"What for?"

"This is where my guitar is. Come on." He took my arm and pulled me in. He said hello to the clerk, who's name, I discovered, was Stewart, and asked if his guitar had been repaired.

"You just needed that new string, right?" The man smiled wide, like a thin and disheveled Santa Clause.

"Right!"

"Yeah, I got to it last night." The old man scuttled off into the back room and retrieved the instrument, handing it to Antonio over the counter.

He strummed it a few times to be sure it was right. "Great! How much?"

"Free." Stewart dismissed with the wave of a hand. My jaw dropped. Did someone just offer to give him free stuff!? Maybe Antonio was the kind of person who just smiled his way through life. I had always hated and envied those people.

"Nothing is free." The boy found his wallet. It was nearly as empty as mine.

"Today is free. You've paid for enough broken strings, this one's on the house."

"For real!?"

He nodded, smiling humbly at the boy who smiled back with the passion of a thousand suns.

"Amazing! You are amazing!" The wallet was stuffed back into his bag.

"It's nothing."

"I will tell all my friends!" He turned to me, the only friend he could currently find. "He is an amazing man." He insisted. "If you want a good instrument, buy from him. One hundred percent safe, rates have never been better."

"Fantastic." I answered unenthusiastically.

"Stewart, I can play for a while?"

"Sure."

"Do you play, Lovino?"

"Me? Oh, uh, no." That, of course, was lie. When I was younger, my father taught me violin but his fingers became old and brittle so we learned piano from then on. I always loved the piano. When I came to Ireland, I left it behind and rarely played. I wasn't sure if my fingers even remembered the way they spidered along the keys or if I knew the tunes of my favorite pieces anymore.

Antonio turned back to Stewart with great excitement. "I can play in here for a while? I want to show my baby to Lovino." He proudly patted his guitar.

"An hour. I've got someone coming in at ten to look at the baby grand."

Antonio blurted out a quick thanks before dragging me off into the main room where instruments and sheets of music littered the floor. I sat on a piano bench and he plopped down on an amp, strumming and tuning his guitar. "Name a song." He muttered, looking down at the lithe strings that stretched down the body of the instrument.

"I don't know."

"_Come on_!" He insisted.

"Whatever, I don't care!"

"Oh! How about this then?" His fingers began plucking furiously in the Spanish style. It took a moment for me to recognize the song.

"Is this…?"

"Reminds you of home, yes?"

"O sole mio! It's only the most Italian song ever. Only… _you're doing it wrong_." I didn't feel an guilt pointing this out to him.

"What? No I'm not." His playing slowed and his expression turned from excitement to dismay.

"Yes you are! Play that part again." I ordered. He did. "Right there! That's a C right there." Instinctively, my hand found the right note on the piano and tapped it a few times. The keys were all too familiar. I could play blindfolded, upside down, backwards, whatever. All the keys were just how I left them, their placements etched into my brain.

He was delighted by this little response. "_You play_?"

"No."

"But you play… I saw." He pointed out.

"Knowing where the C is isn't _playing_."

That big, stupid, smile returned to his face. "_You play_. I know, the music never lies to me."

"I don't even know what that means." I argued for the sake of disagreeing. I hated that he seemed to know everything and that stupid, giddy, conviction of his when he pointed it out.

"_Why won't you play_?" He asked, his accent thick.

"I don't want to."

"You aren't afraid of the music, are you?"

"What? No!"

"Are the songs too sad? Why won't you play them?"

"I'm just tired."

"Tired people play the best."

"I said no, Antonio."

"Okay." He nodded and looked down at his guitar, quietly playing with the knobs and running his fingers over the frets until he felt like my frustration had washed over. "You play for me?" He insisted again.

"_No_."

"Come on, Lovi! I pay ten cent fee! In the store, I pay fee."

"I don't have a _fee_." I could feel my face redden and my anger begin to swell up.

"Play once, just _once,_ then I will not complain." I had a feeling that was a lie.

"Mind your own damn business!"

"Pleeease! I buy you lunch! At a café, just one song." He never gave up! I had never met such a persistent asshole. It was kind of hilarious though.

I thought about the proposal for a good long time. "Jesus Christ. You're serious about lunch, yeah?" When you're broke, you don't turn away a free meal easily.

"I am!"

I don't consider myself a shy person... I just don't like to embarrass myself. I don't enjoy the humility and harassment that follows. I checked out Antonio twenty times over, trying to evaluate the character of the ratty-looking busker. Was it even worth the meal? Antonio didn't give off the _cruel_ vibe but the world is a breeding ground for cruel people. How was I to know he wouldn't just end up being a god damn bastard? Yet, my fingers found position on the keys and music rose into the air, my instincts acting above my reason.

The melody was one I had written. Each note hit my heart with the meaning I had given it years ago. "_Scratching at the surface now…And I'm trying hard to work it out. So much has gone misunderstood…And this mystery only leads to doubt._" My voice didn't use to be to gravelly and hoarse, I guess I just yelled too much.

I didn't bother to look over to Antonio and instead I consumed myself in the song. I wrote those words when I meant them the most, when I had been hurt and the swelling of aching emotions had to be expressed in some way. Each pressing of my fingers into a chord and each raspy word brought me back, sinking me into the memories that I had trapped away in those lyrics. _"And I couldn't understand…When you reached down to take my hand. And if you have something to say…you better say it now."_

The next part of the song ways my favorite because it was the truest. It was the part then engulfed me and let me say what I really wanted to. My hands slammed down hard and fast, pounding out music with fury and passion. I'm sure it surprised Antonio and Stewart but I didn't pay them any mind. _" 'Cause this is what you've waited for! A chance to even up the score! And as these shadows fall on me now, I will somehow!"_

I remembered screaming those words out so many times when my heart ached…after it was broken, after it had been trampled on. Back then, it was just me and my songbook but here, for the first time, I was going to let someone else know what it felt like to be made a fool of by love.

I had never looked to music as an outlet, it just came to me as natural as air to my lungs. I felt like everything could be said better through the voice of each ivory key. My hands slipped between placements with fluidity, not thinking about what they were doing other than creating auditory emotions. I played out the rest of the song, my lips and fingers working in tandem. When I had finished, we sat still with only my thin panting to keep away the silence. I hadn't planned to loose myself so completely but now that I had, I had to own up to it. I prepared for Antonio to ask me what the hell was wrong with me and for Sewart to ask me to leave.

Soft claps came from beside me. The boy smiled and continued to press his palms together weakly. Heat suddenly came over my cheeks when I realized what I had done. It was almost too much! I was so embarrassed. I reached down and gripped well onto the handle of my supermarket bag so I could make a run for it if needed. "You wrote that?" He asked.

"Wha?" I mumbled, barely paying attention to him now.

"It's not an established song?"

"N-no, it's not an established song."

He smiled and nodded to himself. "Where are they?" He asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"Who?"

"The person you wrote this song for."

"Gone." I grumbled, a bit of fire trickling into my throat. I released the grip on my bag.

"Dead?"

"No! Why is that your first assumption every time?"

"You want them to be dead?"

"No! Chrissake, man! They're not dead, just gone."

"I bet, if you played this song, you'd get them back."

"Don't want them back." I muttered and looked back down at the piano.

"Why?"

"I just don't. I'm over it."

"Anyone who writes a song like that is not over it. I promise, you play that song, you get them back."

"I don't want them back. _They_ left _me_."

"Who is this stranger? What is the story?"

"It's not for you to be concerned with."

"Oh! I see! This person is a…um…_shit_…how do you say…_rompecorazones_?"

"I'll tell you the story another time." I picked up my bag and began to walk. I was followed by the soft hum of the guitar being picked up too quickly and in no time he was at my side again. "I'm sorry! Sorry!"

I mumbled a quick thanks to Stewart and left the shop. The rain was now coming down harder. The Spaniard struggled to keep up with me. "Wow, you walk fast, Lovi."

"Don't call me Lovi. Lovino or nothing."

"Alright. I like Lovino better anyways."

"Fantastic."

"Are you mad?"

"About what?" It wasn't a question, it was a threat.

"About back there. About the person that song was for."

"Yes."

"It's okay."

"_What would you know_?"

"I know that my wife never calls unless she needs money. I understand what that song means to you."

"_You're married_!?" I stopped in my tracks and looked at the man. The blue, misty rain framed him so well.

"I used to be. We were tired and poor and drunk so we filled out some papers and decided to someday move into the mountains where we would not be bothered. We argued and fought like dogs… it just didn't work with us so we agreed to be done and I came here to start new. Start over."

"You never got divorced or nothing?"

"No, she won't sign the papers. She still wants to work it out. She says that the sun will rise someday and my mind will change. I will wake up from my daydream and come back but I have my own life now. I can't go back_, I don't want that_. The child is not even mine."

"_**A child**_!?"

"He is not mine! I am sure! If I even though he _might_ be my son, I would be there with him!"

"Holy fuck! _Who are you, exactly_!?"

"I am a person who has made mistakes. I am human."

"But it's not your son, right? You're sure of that?"

"One hundred percent sure! She calls time from time though and tells me that he is my son and says that I need to send her money to support him."

"And you do?"

"Of course. She needs it. She is a single mother and Esteban is um… how do you say…_autista_?"

"Autistic?"

"Yes! The boy is autistic. She needs money, they need help."

"But if you really want to cut ties, shouldn't you just stop communication all together?"

"We are still friends and besides, I want Esteban to feel like he has a male role model in his life, at least a little bit. I don't want him to feel like I abandoned him and his mother."

"Do you still love her?"

"No…I don't." He glanced up at the descending rain, recalling happy memories of the woman. " Like I said, I am a new Antonio. I just hold ties back to that life."

"So…do you write songs about her?"

"All the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was a big part of my life, y'know? There are a lot of things to say. You write songs about that person too, yes?"

"Yeah. Not any that don't involve shouting though."

"Ah, I see. It still hurts?"

"I wish it didn't."

"Give it time. When you find other people to care about, the old ones will matter less."

"Well, that's good I guess."

"We're here."

"Hm?"

"This is the building. I live in a room in here. Actually, there are a few rooms that I live in. Like a small house-"

"_Apartment_. The word you're looking for is apartment."

"Right. Apartment." He held open the door. "You come in?"

"Sure."

Antonio said hello to the group playing cards in the lobby who, I assume, were hoodlums and criminals. The Spaniard didn't seem to be the most rational person. They greeted him in return as we began to climb the stairs. Surrounding us were an odd collection of noises that echoed into the stairwell from the rooms on the other side of the wall. Babies cried, hovers growled, people yelled curses back and forth in a battle of vulgarity. Finally we reached his door: 450. The metal zero had fallen off or been stolen and was replaced by a sharpied trace over the shadow of the missing tag. He opened the door and introduced me to his family.

Alonso was the oldest. He sat on the couch with his girl, Moddy. He waved at me and flashed a weak smile before going back to watching the game and sipping his beer. Moddy was uninterested. She quickly fixed her hair and greeted me then followed Alonso's lead of oblivion. Then there was the youngest brother, Lorenzo, who was quite the character. He wore spikey, bleached, hair and a tight-fitting shirt as well as sweatbands over every sweaty area of his body. I felt nauseous. "Oh, wow! Toni-Boy doesn't bring people home. You must be something special." He forced his hand into mine and shook the hell out of it.

Antonio smacked his brother's head in annoyance. "Ya basta! Le estás avergonzando!" (Knock it off! You're embarrassing him!)

Lorenzo instantly turned defensive. "El está bien! Te preocupas demasiado a menudo!" (He's fine! You worry too much!)

"No asustar a mi invitado!" (Don't scare away my guest!)

I thought to mention that I could understand them, being a fluent Italian-speaker myself but instead, I let them rattle on in interest of seeing how the two interacted. "Por qué estás tan irritado? Relajarse, Mano!" (Why are you so irritated? Relax, Bro!) The younger objected.

"Mantenga una mano en los otros, Aprobado? Yo sé que ustedes son lo general muy _acogedor_ con invitados. Hoy no. Hoy ,usted se comporta." (Hold one hand in the other, alright? I know that you're generally very _cozy_ with guests. Not today. Today, you behave.)

"Si, Por supuesto!" (Yes, of course!).

The two brothers exchanged a somewhat violent hug and then gave their attention back to me. "Dónde está el microondas?"( Where is the microwave?) I asked, holding up my Chinese food.

Antonio became flustered at realizing that his whole conversation had gone without secrecy. "It's uh…back in the kitchen. Over here, I'll show you." He walked me the three paces it took to get to their tiny, galley kitchen. It was barely a refrigerator, a microwave, three drawers, a sink and a blackened oven with duct-tape used to solidify the gaping hole where the door of it ought to be. He prepared the meal for me and took out a piece of bread for himself.

"You're not going to cook that or nothing?" I asked as we sat across the table from each other. I scooped another heap of chow mein into my mouth. I didn't want to say anything but I kind of liked Antonio's apartment. It seemed like the residents liked each other, not to mention the abundance of family photos and memorabilia littering the walls.

"No machine for cooked bread." He nodded towards the toaster-lacking kitchen.

"You could…I dunno, put jam on it or something."

"It's Alonso's turn to buy groceries. He is fat and lazy." He made it a point to say that last part loudly. "_Maybe we will all starve to death by next week._"

"It's not my fault that my family eats like swine." He called back from his seat on the couch.

Antonio laughed to himself then ushered me to take off my jacket. "I have to go to work pretty soon. I'm not staying long." I informed him.

"Work fixing hoovers?" He asked.

"What's a _hoover_?" Lorenzo questioned from his seat on the countertop.

"A vacuum cleaner. Y'know,_ vrrrooooo_." I explained.

"Oh! Antonio! Tell your friend that _we_ have a broken hoover!"

Antonio suddenly remembered. "Sí, I told him! Lovino! You can fix our hoover!"

"No shit." I spat sarcastically. "I'll take it with me when I leave, if you want."

"Fantastic! When should I pick up?"

"Uh, I dunno. I'll get it done before nine probably."

"Nine o-clock. Got it! I will be there for sure!"

"You want me to get the hoover?" Lorenzo asked with almost as much enthusiasm as his brother. The two seemed to fight yet they were so similar.

"Sure, whatever."

He jumped off the counter and went to wrestle the piece of machinery out of their cluttered closet. It was old. She was probably a nineteen forties model, a fire extinguisher with a hose and a handle. "How much to fix?" He asked, showing her off proudly.

"One million euro." I answered flatly and went back to scraping at the insides of my cardboard box. It wasn't even worth it to fix that fire hazard.

"Wait…Seriously!?" Antonio's eyes widened and he just about choked on his bread.

"I'm Italian, I'm always serious." I didn't even bother to look up.

"Cut me a break, Lovi!"

"Hey! It's _Lovino_!" I hissed.

"Yes, of course! _Lovino_, I can't afford that!"

"He's pulling your chain." Moddy chimed in. "I worked for Italian once. The guy couldn't even keep a straight face."

"Well maybe he's from Sicily or something. A true Italian never jokes about money." I corrected.

Alfonso finally turned around to give his attention to the topic at hand. "I will trade you Antonio for the vacuum. One actually makes this household an easier place to live in."

Lorenzo broke out into laughter. "_Yeah right_! You'd _owe_ him to take Tony-Boy!"

"Hey!" Antonio cried. "You guys are terrible! Maybe I _will_ run away!"

"Good." The oldest answered flatly turned back to the game. "That would save me money on all the food you eat."

"I don't eat a lot!" He objected.

"He's got a point. You're are getting fat." Lorenzo happily joined the teasing.

"Not!" He pulled up his shirt, making a display of his flat stomach. "I am starving!"

"I didn't know Toni was preggers." Moddy chuckled.

His face became red with frustration as he pulled his shirt back down. "Let's go, Lovino. I will carry the hoover to the shop." He shoved the rest of the bread in his mouth and lifted said piece of shit before dragging me out of the room and down the stairs. "I'm sorry about them. My family is…well… they are my family." He sighed.

"It's fine. I have a brother, too. He gets on my nerves all the time."

"Yeah? What's he like?"

I groaned."Perfect." Honestly, no word suited him better.

"Nobody is perfect."

"There's always one. Everybody loves him. Literally, _everybody_."

"You have lucky parents, then. Everybody hopes that their children will grow up successful."

"No, it's not like that. It's just _him_. He could kill someone and everyone would blame it on the guy for having an ugly face. I mean, I'm already unlikable but having someone like that to shadow over you only makes it worse."

"I don't know if I understand. You're unlikable?"

"Come on, even a dumb shit like _you_ knows that."

"I don't think you're unlikable. I like you very much."

"That's what they all say. I don't need pity, okay? I _know_ what I am, I'm not desperate for someone to pat my head and give me a biscuit."

"Of course not. You are a human, not a dog."

"That's not what I meant. Just… whatever. I don't need you to make me feel better or anything."

"I can see that."

We walked in silence for a while until it was finally tearing at me to ask. "What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

"What you just said. I said I didn't need your pity then you were all like_, I can see that_."

"Oh. I just meant that I know you don't need pity. You're not a child. You can take care of yourself. Pity is for things that are helpless."

"_Thank you!_" I exasperated. "I've been saying that for years!"

"But you _do_ need attention."

"Wha?"

"You weren't love enough as a child. That makes an adult who can't accept love. Sad baby, sad adult."

"_What the fuck does that mean_!?" What? So suddenly he's a psychologist?

"It means we'll work on it. You can still be cured."

"This is going to become something really stupid, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

I sighed and continued to trudge on. "You're such an idiot."

He laughed. "I like you better than your brother."

"You don't even _know_ him."

"No, but I have a feeling that you wanted me to say that. Besides, I'm sure it's true."

"Probably not. He's your type. Dumb…and happy…and always joking around." I uncomfortably adjusted my scarf. "You two would get along perfectly."

"That's not my type."

"No?"

"No. Opposites attract, yes? You've heard that phrase before?"

"Of course I have, I'm not stupid."

"Well, it's true. I like challenges, I like to work for my happiness, y'know? I don't want to be with someone who will smile and agree with me, I want to be with someone who has opinions… someone who's not satisfied with mediocre life. Get opposites together and all the gaps are filled in. They are complete. One side has Yin…" He formed his hand into the shape of a crescent moon. "And the other has Yang." He gently took my hand and formed it to match, pressing them together.

My cheeks became burning red and I ripped my wrist out of his grasp. "_Idiot_." I grumbled and took off in a furious speed walk.

"Whoa! Lovino! So fast!" Had to sprint for a moment to catch up to me.

"The shop is right down here."

"Really!? Wow, I live pretty close to it, I guess."

He always did that. He always took a weird situation and just pasted words on top of it to make it all better. "Yeah. You do."

"How long have you worked there?"

" 'Round four years or so."

"Why don't you try other jobs?"

"Because Lovino Vargas _**does not**_ clean houses."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have a lot of options. I don't really have, y'know, _people skills_. I can do this, make dirty videos, or clean houses. My pride leaves me only one option. I'm a hoover repair man."

"I see."

"What about you? You're not going to pass out brochures forever, are you?"

"I'd like to make music. I want to make a CD someday."

"Really?"

"Yes. I've put all of my life stories into lyrics, I want to share that with everyone else. In a real studio with a real band."

"And why don't you?"

"I don't know. I guess I just never got my foot in the door."

"Then _why don't you_? Unless you want to be poor and smelly for the rest of your life."

"I'm not smelly, am I?"

"A little bit but that's not what we're talking about. Point is, it really only takes a weekend in a studio. It's not impossible."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Banks."

"I don't have a band."

"I'm sure your brothers can smack drums and shake tambourines. The only thing that's holding your back is lack of effort. I'm tired of lazy-ass-bums always complaining about taxes and shit. If you don't try, then it can't possibly happen, yeah?"

"You really think I could do it?"

"Sure. I'll go with you to the bank, seeing as you can probably use that dumb foreigner appeal to get yourself a good deal."

"You'll come with me!?"

"Yeah, whatever. I don't have anything going on tomorrow anyways."

"That's amazing! You'll play the piano!"

"_What_!?"

"It's perfect! You can play and sing with us!"

"I never said that!"

"It's only one weekend, yes? We _need_ you! You make the band!"

"_The answer is no_." I heaved open the door to the shop and strode in, trying not to make eye contact with the recently-inspired Spaniard.

"Pleeeaaase! Lovino!" He whined.

"Please what?" asked from the front counter of our cluttered, little, shop. He owned the shop.

"He wants me to join a stupid band." I explained and lazily tossed my jacket and CD player onto a chair before going into the back room to find my tools.

"You play?" asked me, barely able to follow the conversation. Antonio happily shook the man's hand.

"He does and he is _amazing_. Hello, I'm Antonio."

"Bart Phillip." He greeted in return.

I came out of the back room, tying my workshop apron around my waist and sending a glare at the foreigner. "_You can leave now_."

"Bart, tell him he's crazy! He came up with a brilliant plan that will make my dreams come true then he is…he is…" He wracked his brain for a moment, trying to come up with the right phrase. "A cat on hot bricks!"

"What?"

"It's an idiom. He's trying to say that I'm stubborn, like a cat who won't give up its spot on a wall."

"Exactly! He's being stubborn! He is backing out!"

Bart looked to me, his long, old, face causing his glasses to slide down his nose just a millimeter a minute. "Why is this, Lovino?"

I was frustrated that was actually siding with Antonio. "Well…because I'm busy!"

"Doing what?" He countered.

I lifted up Antonio's thousand-pound vacuum. "Fixing other people's shit!" I plopped it down loudly on the counter before laying out my tools.

"Is that really what you're worried about?"

"I've got to keep a job now, haven't I?"

"You could take a weekend off. You have loads of vacation time that you haven't used."

"_Can't_." I angrily jammed my screwdriver into the belly of the machine. "You can't do this all on your own."

"God forbid we get a customer. I've been doing this for twenty-eight years. You think I really can't cover two or three measly days? _What's the real reason_?"

"I dunno. Maybe I have plans that you don't know about."

"Lovino, unless you're going out of town with me or Matt, I can assure you that you have no other plans." It's true that I only have two _quote-on-quote _friends.

"Why won't you do it, Lovino?" Antonio joined back into the argument.

"Because I have a terminal illness. If I play in a band, I'll die."

"That is not true! And it's not even really band if we break up after a weekend."

"If I say I'll think about it, will you leave?"

"Yes!"

"I'll think about it. Now scram."

"Okay, okay!" He made his way to the door and opened it. "I'll pick you up at nine for drinks!"

"I never agreed to that!"

"See you then! Good bye!" He slipped out of the shop and the bells hanging in the door frame confirmed that he was gone. I turned my aggression to my "boss".

"You're only encouraging him, you know that?"

The old man smiled and smacked my arm in a friendly way. "_He's a keeper_." With that, he disappeared into the back room. I decided to ignore that comment and went back to dissecting and repairing the hoover, something that would keep me busy until nine. Antonio better have been god damn glad that he found me because nobody else in their right mind would know how to fix such a piece of trash nor would they try.

Before I knew it, the bells were chiming again and a curly head bobbed over to the counter. "Wow! She looks beautiful!"

I removed my gloves and pushed my bangs away from my face. "Yeah, well she should suck up things now."

"That's exactly what I wanted!"

"I must be a mind reader then."

"It's perfect! How much?"

I called out of the back room and asked him about the price. He responded "Free". What's everybody's deal with giving that guy free things!? I just spent _nine hours_ cleaning off toothpick-sized pieces of machinery! Does that mean _nothing_!? I was under the impression that I had a _job_!

"This thing is vintage! And, before I got at it, the wheels were the only working parts! It's forty euro!"

"Lovino! Mind yourself, won't you?" He gave me a gesture that said he wanted to see me in the back room this instant.

Are you kidding!? I gave the loudest, angriest, sigh I could manage and stalked into the back room where he was waiting for me. "What the fuck is this all about?" I hissed.

"That man out there may very well be the only true friend you've got."

"Who says! I barely even know him! And what right do you have to say who is and isn't my friend!?"

"How long have you known him?"

"_Two days_."

"Yet, he's done more for you than I ever saw _you-know-who_ do."

"Don't start that! This isn't about _you-know-who_!"

"Just think about it, Lovino! Friendships are about sacrifice. He gives up for you, time for you to show some kindness in return."

"Bullshit! He's just a pain in my ass. My act of kindness is tolerating him!"

"Go out there and give him half price."

"But-!"

"I own this shop, that's an order."

"But I worked so hard on it! You should have seen how it was before!"

"I'll reimburse you the slack, okay? _Now go_."

I mumbled a curse under my breath and shuffled back out to Antonio. "Twenty euro." I announced.

He happily fiddled around in his wallet before laying his money down on the counter. I stared down at the bills. "Can't fuck'n count?" There were an extra ten euro spread out before me.

He winked. "I always tip."

"Oh…uh…okay." I jammed the bill into my pocket. "Thanks." My anger had dissipated quite a bit and I even felt a little bad now that he had done something else nice for me. I quickly talked myself out of it, reasoning that he was just a customer and it's his _responsibility_ to tip.

"We go get drinks now?"

"What about the vacuum?"

"I have a place for it on my bike."

I picked up my jacket from its place on the chair. "Yeah? What kind of bike?"

"Harley. Faster than train."

I suddenly realized that I couldn't find my CD player. It wasn't under my jacket. I tried shaking out my coat on the rare chance that it had gotten stuck somewhere but still nothing. I ducked under the chair. "What are you looking for?" Antonio asked.

"My CD player."

"You left it at my house."

"No I didn't. I brought it here, I know I did. I set it down."

"You are mistaken. You left it in the kitchen."

"No I didn't!"

"I'm sure you just forgot it. It's no big deal." Burt offered, cluing me into his involvement in its disappearance.

"You took it, didn't you?"

"Me? What? No."

"Yes you did!" I suddenly remembered the Spaniard standing on my left. "And you gave it to _him_! You traitor!" At that point, I already had it all figured out. Burt knew what was in it, he knew it was my CD and he gave it to Antonio! _This was about the whole band business!_ "You're a traitor, Burt!"

"I did it for your own good. I knew you wouldn't do it on your own." The old man crossed his arms and walked into the back room. He never cared much for my temper tantrums.

"Because I don't _want_ people to hear that! It's an invasion of my privacy!" I called after him.

"Lovino! Calm down! I thought it was amazing! _True talent!"_

"It's wasn't for you to hear!"

"I'm sorry! B-but… we need you! I talked to my family, they'll do it if you do!"

"_You played it for them_!?" My rage increased two-fold.

"I couldn't help myself! I was amazed!"

"_God dammit_, Antonio!"

"You play the piano better than anyone I've ever heard! So much passion!"

I roughly pulled my jacket on. "Just give the damn thing back." I spat, too tired to shoot him down with my usual curses.

"I will! Of course! Just give me tonight!"

"For what? Do you plan on robbing my entire house?"

"No! Give me tonight to convince you! Go out for drinks with me, listen to what I have to say. If the answer is still no by tomorrow, we'll forget it all."

"Why would I want to listen to your whiney ass for a whole night?"

"Because we can do it! _I know we can_! Lovino_, I can feel it_! We will sound amazing! We will make the best music you've ever heard!"

"No thanks."

"Come on, please! Are you afraid of free alcohol?"

"No, I'm afraid of drunken promises and a dizzy night."

"I promise, nothing bad will happen. You have nothing to lose, just a little time."

"And my dignity. Look, it's my goal to stay out anything that would draw attention to myself. I don't have people skills, remember?"

"Nobody would say bad things about you! They would say how good your music is!"

"It's not my thing." I wrapped my scarf around my neck, preparing to leave. He stepped in front of my way.

"Just one night. Free drinks, some chit-chat."

"Okay, look here." I waited until he gave me his total, undivided, attention. "What if I give you three hours?"

"Sounds perfect!"

"But there are conditions! I'm out of there at midnight. If I can leave with all my wits about me and you've failed on this whole revelation of yours, then you'll go back to being a smelly busker and I'll go back to fixing hoovers. That's it. No more dirty mind games and persistent nagging for shit."

His smile turned flat. "Not friends?"

"Nope. Just a foreigner, a guitar, and a pessimist."

"You cannot be serious!"

"I'm Italian, I'm always serious. I don't play games, Antonio."

"But that's-"

"Make up your mind."

"Wait so…I can choose drinks, and you might leave and we might become better friends. Or… I can choose no drinks and let us always be like this…"

"Come on, I gotta get going if I'm going to catch the bus."

He went into deep thought before finally declaring drinks with a confident tone. "Yeah?" I asked, kind of shocked. He didn't seem like a risk taker to me.

"Yes. You must play before you win, right?"

"Yeah, I've heard it said that way."

"We go now?"

"It's all the same to me."

He put the hoover in a compartment on the bike and we took off. We went to my favorite pub. I knew the people there well, better than I knew my own neighbors. It was an old place with red and white checkered flooring and wooden shelves full of bottles. It was homey. I liked it better than any of the modern bars where they played pop music and kept their lights low.

I sat in my spot and called over Johnson, the bartender. I wasn't sure if Johnson was his first or last name but it was the only name anybody had ever called him so I figured it must be both. "Good see'n you, Bub." Also, he can't remember anyone's name for shit so he calls them all Bub. "What can I get you?"

"Scotch."

"And for you, Mr?" He turned to the foreign-looking newbie.

"Oh, uh… scotch."

"You're practically twins." He chuckled to himself and went to prepare the drinks.

"Is scotch good?" Antonio asked.

"I dunno, I guess."

"You don't know?"

"Taste doesn't matter when you're drunk."

When Johnson came back with the drinks, it was made clear that Toni had never sipped hard liquor in his life. By the time I had cleaned two mugs, he was half way done with his first. "Oh, the wee lamb." I taunted.

"I don't know how you do it!"

"Practice. I drink instead of dealing with all that emotional shit."

"That can't be good for you."

"Can't win 'em all."

"So, who is it?"

"Who?"

"The person you drink for. The one in the songs."

"My ex."

"Who were they?"

I took another hard swig out of my mug. "No good. I'm not drunk enough to talk about that yet." I called for my mug to be refilled.

We went about drinking for a while longer and talked about the whole band idea. He said that his family would do it if he could talk me into joining and that all of his dreams would come true. He tried flattery and pressure and pure absurdity. The scotch began to work it's magic, easing my thoughts and making the distance from my brain to my tongue much shorter.

"Your songs really are wonderful."

"That's a lie. They're all filled with hate and regret."

"That's what makes them good! They have so much meaning! So pure!"

"Meaning? Really? Is that the best you can do? Piss off."

"They really are!"

"You know why I write those songs?" I asked and he shook his head in response. "You wanna know why I'm kissing the bottle again on Sunday and screaming at a piano on Monday? Here, come on. I have a story to tell you." I led him off to a little dusty piano in a corner of the bar, deciding I was probably drunk enough now. "This is a little number I like to call my life."

I readied my hands. The keys were a little hazy and boring to look at so instead, I gave my dizzy smile to Antonio who was waiting beside me. "_Ten years ago I fell in love with an Irish fool who broke my heart. That fool went and screwed some guy that they knew and now I'm in Dublin with a broken heart._" The tune picked up the happy spring of an Irish folk song, curtsy of my sarcastic humor. "_Oh broken-hearted-hover-fixer-sucker-guy. Oh broken-hearted-hoover-fixer-sucker, sucker-guy! Someday I'll go and kick some ass again but till then I'm just a sucker of a guy_."

A few people clapped lamely with pity for me once I had finished and when I returned to the bar, I had received a drink from an anonymous donation. "So that's it." I told Antonio, boredly drying the condensation off my glass.

"That's terrible."

"Nah, doesn't even hurt."

"That's because you're drunk."

"You're right about that." I took a chug, drowning myself further into drunken bliss.

"Maybe you should stop drinking. You'll get sick."

"_If I'm lucky_."

He sighed and called over Johnson then whispered into his ear, probably telling him to bring me water next time I called for a drink. "So you don't want them back?"

"Nope."

"Is the ex still with the guy?"

"No, it was a one-time thing. Must have been bored with me."

"I don't see why."

"Jesus, Antonio. Just stop saying things like that."

"Like what?"

"Like what you just said. Sappy shit that absolutely nobody but you would agree with."

"I think people overlook you. They stop at the first impression."

" 'Cause they don't need to look any farther. Look at me. I'm a drunken bum without a penny to his name who spends his days fixing hoovers and complaining about his some cheating asshole."

"You're not just that."

"You're right. I'm also drunk. Oh, wait, I think I already said that."

"Well, you _are_ drunk… but also good things." He lifted the drink away from my lips just as I went in for another chug and sat it closer to himself. "Your also a very nifty repair man."

"Thank god for that." I grumbled as he pushed my haphazard bangs away from my eyes, trying to clean me up which was useful, seeing as I had now lost all interest in personal hygiene.

"Your also very good on the piano. You write nice songs and you sing them well."

"Sure." He flipped my collar back down so I didn't look like a teenage rebel anymore.

"And you are kind, despite your attempts not to be."

"Yup." I lazily answered back, not thinking much about words anymore.

"And you are amazingly skilled at hiding just how special you are."

"Special?"

"Special. I don't think that I have ever met anyone like you. You are your own kind of person, difficult but exciting." He handed me his glass of cold water, which was softer on the throat than scotch.

"You ever been drunk before?"

"Once. I don't really like alcohol, too bitter."

"What was the occasion?"

"I was in America with my friend, we were gambling and drinking-"

"She was…"

"Yeah, she was that one. That's when we decided to get married. In the city we went to, there was a church were complete strangers were getting married. We though, hey, we could do that. After all, we were close friends. If we got married, we could move far away and live out our ridiculous dreams like a fairytale. Turns out, it doesn't work like that."

"When did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That you didn't want to be married to her anymore."

"I saw a play. My friend got a role in it, he let me come for free. In the play, there were these two people, two complete strangers, who had only known each other for a few days but they right away that they loved each other very much. I realized that it wasn't like that with her. I liked her, I even loved her but she was my friend. I didn't know what it was like to feel such a uh… _spontaneous_ connection to somebody. That's what I wanted, that's why I left."

"You won't find it here. You're wasting your time in Dublin, all you'll get is ripped off by convenience stores and beaten down by the debt collectors." For a second, I thought I heard him answer me by whispering, _"but I've found you…"_ but I must have been imagining things.

"What about you? Did you have somebody after that one?" He took the water glass from my hand when I held it out and he set it back down.

I shook my head. "No, I don't need it. I don't go _trying_ to get myself hurt, I can do that on my own."

"Did it really hurt that bad?"

"I didn't think it would and it didn't at the beginning but… it always comes back. I always get calls."

"What about?"

"Just the usual. _I'm sorry, I miss you, it's nice and sunny out here, I wish you'd visit, maybe we can work this out, we just need to talk_."

"Do you want to work it out?"

"Sometimes I think about it… then I change my mind. It was good in the beginning and then… we just don't know each other. I don't want it, not at all."

"What _do_ you want?"

"To find my way out of here, I guess. I'd like to find a real job, maybe go back to Italy and stop drinking so much."

"Do you ever think about finding somebody new?"

I shook my head. "One and done, that's my motto."

"Really? You can't know everything about love after having one relationship."

"I think it's better like that. The more you know, the more you have to lose."

"The more you gain."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe you'll understand it later." He said with a smile.

"Whatever." I plopped my tired head down on my arm.

"Hey! No sleeping! We have to discuss band stuff! I've got another hour to convince!"

"Alright, fine, shoot."

He spurted nonsense about being in a band for a good long time and I watched him with my head on the table. He spoke with such enthusiasm and conviction that I couldn't help but study his face. He had a happy talent for taking words and bending them into little bits of his own soul. I watched his lips move, shaping and morphing but never breaking from his tell-tale smile. His eyes were even more amazing. They spoke, silently laying meaning atop each word. They shone in a way that touched you deep down where you're most pliable, forcing you to stare deeper and deeper into them. He was intoxicating, even more so than the liquor.

He had a face that would leave an impression on you. Even if you just passed by him once and met his eyes, you'd remember that face. It would always be in the back of your head and you would wonder if that was a real person or maybe a picture you had seen once. You'd think back to childhood friends and other warm memories, trying to put a name to the face but always end up a thread short.

He had a laughing voice. It was hard to describe, it really was. It was a voice that sounds like it's just been laughing real hard at a real good joke and you wish you knew what that joke was because it's god damn infectious. It's a settling tone, the kind that a mother uses to lull a baby but also the kind that a lover uses to lull a lover. It knew things, it never waver or sounded unsure. It's not a voice you could put on the radio or a TV commercial, you just have to keep it with you in your memory and think about the warm, sun-kissed, exuberant man that it lives with.

"So how about it?" Just then, I realized that I hadn't heard a word of the past hour.

"_About what_?"

"Singing with me. In the studio…" I glanced back up at his face, those desperate eyes capturing my gaze and holding it tight. He spoke to me, right then and there, without saying a single word.

Something came over me, forcing my heart to quicken and my lips to move. "Sure, why not?" The words were slight and weak but I said them and meant them.

There was celebration on his part but I more focused on closing my eyes. What's funny is, all my whole life, I'd never been anything special. There wasn't a part of me that was any more special than another. All that changed was, I'd met somebody who made me _fee_l just maybe a little bit…I dunno…_special_.

I blocked out the sounds of the bar and let myself sink further and further into unconsciousness. In my head, words began sifting through the clutter, forming into verses then lyrics then eventually little knotted together parts of a song. It would go, _I don't know you but I want you all the more for that… _Then the world faded away and my mind went numb.

Thank you for reading Act 1 of strangers! This is based off the independent film and Broadway musical, Once. What follows is a list of songs I used, derived from the actual musical:

Lovino's music shop song: Say it to me now.  
( watch?v=JMqKOt7R_K8 )

Lovino's bar song: Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy. ( watch?v=K6J1EYQirtg) I changed the lyrics of this one slightly to remove the gender of Lovino's ex.

Lovino's last song: Falling Slowly. ( watch?v=FkFB8f8bzbY)


	2. Act 2

STRANGERS

_Act 2_

_(I've rewritten the first chapter so if this is your second time coming back to this story, you might want to give that a look.)_

Tired.

I was so god damn tired and it wasn't even the least bit humorous. I remembered only fuzzy bits of those hellish early hours. I fell asleep in the bar but Antonio woke me up. We talked for a long god damn time about god knows what and then we recorded a couple shitty songs at his house and I went home for a mere three hours of sleep.

At five, that stupid asshole called me (I must have given him my number) _and _reminded me that I had promised to go with him to get a loan. He wouldn't hang up until he finally heard me turn on the shower. At least he was waiting at the corner with coffee when I finally came trudging out of my building like an angry bear, wrapped up tightly in my coat and scarf. Of course _he_ looked just as happy and springy as a field full of daisies. "What the fuck are you so happy about?" I sneered.

"My dream is going to come true!" He replied simply with that unfaltering smile. I was in awe of his ability to always be so optimistic. He tackled every challenge in his life with some sort of higher understand that came right out a text book. He was the Martha Stewart of happy living. It made me want to hate him yet it was the trait that kept me most intrigued.

"My head hurts like hell in a handbag, I'll tell you that much." I growled. We walked and sipped coffee lazily.

"Alcohol sickness?"

"It's the _lack_ of alcohol that makes me sick."

"That's a bigger problem than the other way around."

"It's nobody's problem but my own."

"Can it my problem too?"

"No, dammit! Stay out of my stuff!" I spat.

"_Lovi!"_

"What's it matter to _you_?!"

"Drinking makes your body and mind sick!"

"Tell me something I don't know."

"If you drink much alcohol, you will be dead when you are too young."

For that, I kicked him nice and hard in the heel and I didn't feel bad about it, even when he cried out and limped the next two steps. "Lovino! I wouldn't expect such behavior from someone who knows better!"

"_Keep your nose out of my god damn life!"_ I barked in such a way that he could sense my anger but also my pathetic desperation. I immediately felt guilty after that. He didn't mean it… _he didn't know_…

"Lovino?" He whimpered like a punished puppy, cocking his head at me and wondering what he had done to hurt me so badly. I stared down at my feet to keep him from discovering how raw my emotions had become.

"_I didn't mean it_." I finally admitted, somewhat apologetically.

"But I don't…"

"I just… it's… I-I…."

"_It's okay_." I looked up to find that his kind smile was once again focused my way. What I had done to deserve it, I couldn't say. "You'll tell me with your songs and then I'll understand, yes?"

I dropped my head back down to watch at my shoes as they took swift steps foward. "It's not something that can be understood."

"When you sing it to me, _I_ will understand."

"Get real, Kid. How can _you_ understand me? I'm a class different than your own, I'm the kind of person who hides and keeps secrets."

"Well, when your mind's made up, there's no point in me trying to fight it, now is there? You'll have to decide on your own whether you want me to know you or not."

"Even _that's_ not my choice. You're like a tumor, I can't get _rid_ of you." I took a sip of my steaming coffee in hopes it would calm my nerves.

He laughed an airy chuckle. "We both know that's not true~ You could do anything you wanted to."

I almost did a spit-take at that remark. "_You're kidding, right_?"

"No. Why would I kid?"

"If I could do anything I wanted, I wouldn't be in such a god damn rut. I would be in a big house with lots of food and nobody to bother me."

"You would _wish_ for seclusion?"

"People are too much of a mess to deal with."

"I think you would miss me~"

"_You wish_."

"You wouldn't?" He asked, genuinely offended. I realized that I would have to choose my words carefully to avoid the idiot breaking out into sobs but also to keep from granting false hope.

"Look, I'll admit that you're different… you… you're different than the people around here. You're not so damn gutter-sick and you're a helluva lot gigglier than them. It's refreshing to have that kind of ridiculous hope around here again."

He didn't answer. I chanced a glance up at his face to see if the tears had come yet but to my surprise, he was grinning ear to ear. "I like you too~" Was all he said.

I decided to ignore the whole conversation because I didn't want to embarrass myself anymore and I certainly didn't want to draw attention to my rising blush. We arrive at the bank just as we had emptied our paper cups.

Antonio held the door open for me and the woman at the help desk took our names before asking us to wait until a consultant could talk to us. We took a seat in their assigned waiting area. "Lovino?" A nervous voice chimed. For a single moment, I imagined it was my brother, pleading with me for a favor like he had so many times in our childhood. I had to look at the shaking, curly-headed boy to truly believe that it was _him_ sounding so afraid. Gentle reminiscence came over me.

"Yeah?" I asked, much kinder than usual.

"What do I do?"

"Act natural, be confident." My brother had always cried about stupid stuff like this too. Idiots under pressure become jittery, nervous, wrecks. Antonio was no exception.

"But I don't know about money and stuff! I can't even make math on my fingers!"

"Just don't worry. I'll handle it."

"I don't have money to give them! You saw my guitar case!"

I held up the tape we had made last night from where it had been tucked away in my bag. It had only three songs on it but they were good songs. "I didn't get three hours of sleep for nothing. This will work, trust me."

His eyes feverously searched mine, searching for the confidence I had promised him. "_Okay_." He finally agreed and sat up in his chair, arranging his wits the best he could.

We were called into a little office down the hall where a tired, business man in a suit sat behind a desk and watched our every move. We had a seat, as instructed. He introduced himself under the title of Mr. Percy Benjamin. I did the same for Antonio and myself and described our situation. I knew perfectly well how to deal with business men. My father had made it his mission to turn me and Feliciano into little lawyers. He didn't want us to end up like him, a retired, arthritic, violin player living in the darkest and dampest of suburbs, drinking away the evils of the world. Though…I had a feeling that if he saw me now, he'd break Antonio's guitar and choke me with the loose strings.

We discussed the loan, the payments and interests. I fought to bid him down each offer he gave us. To be honest, I was nervous as all hell too. I had promised Antonio a dream after all and nobody wants to invest in two gutter-rats with a couple of broken instruments. He kept refusing our request or accepting it and upping the interest to some ridiculous rate that was worth double what we could make selling our kidneys.

"Here, listen to this." I said with frustration, laying my tape player on the table and popping in our recordings. Antonio's muffled voice began to play alongside the tapping of my piano and the strumming of his guitar. "_Are you sleeping? Still dreaming? Still drifting off alone…"_ Although I'd never told him, he had a knack for music. He'd shown me a few of his songs yesterday…and they were good. "_I'm not leaving with this feeling__, __so you'd better best be told__…__And how in the world did you come__…__to be such a lazy love?"_ He had a nice voice, too. If he played his songs during the day, I had a feeling he'd make more than a couple euro.

We listened to all three tracks. When I clicked off the tape player, it was quiet. It was a very thoughtful kind of quiet. Mr. Benjamin didn't say anything, just tapped his fingers together and stared at the tape for a long time. I ejected it and placed it in his hands. "Here, take it home, listen to it."

Then finally, he spoke. "Can I show you something?"

"Yeah, 'Course." I answered.

Before I knew it, the banker had pulled a guitar out from under his desk, propped a leg up on his chair, and he began strumming. Apparently, Antonio wasn't the only one in the room who had aspired to be a musician. Both me and The Spaniard were taken aback by his spontaneous leap into an old timely Irish pub songs.

His accent was so thick and his words so jumbled that I could barely make out what he was saying. Me and the equally appalled Antonio stood bye, forced smiled pasted onto our faces. Thankfully, it only lasted a minute or so.

"You liked it?" He asked, lowering his guitar and sitting back down, a hopeful smile dancing across his face.

I nudged Antonio in the side, reminding him to keep his mouth shut and let me do the talking. _"You really can play."_

"Y'know, when I was young like you two I had me own band. Now I just play around with a couple of me mates after work."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it was a fine thing, though. It was me two other of me childhood pals. We called ourselves The Shape Shifters." He laughed. "It was the eighties, everyone was in a sci-fi craze. Now I'm a lot more level headed. We mostly do some old pub songs, just like my father and father before him." With a big smile on his face, he took another look at our papers and I felt a serge of hope flow through me. Now was the time to stretch the truth.

"Did you know my father was in the Italian orchestra? Violin player." I mentioned, hoping to win over more of his favor.

"Was he now? My father was a fiddler himself." My father would _never_ call a violin a fiddle. He despised that word with the passion of one thousand suns.

"I hope to someday be like him. I lost him just ten years back to a stroke and ever since then, there's been this hole in my heart that I just can't fill…" I could tell that Mr. Benjamin was eating this up so I pushed further. "Sometimes I can feel his sorrow for having his life taken away so early and I think,_ how can I express these feelings?_ That's why I started writing songs. It's for my old pa who was never able to see me grow tall and fulfill my dreams. I think that if I can record these songs and share them… he'll hear me from above and he'll be proud."

Both Antonio and were pretty damn close to tears now. The approval stamp couldn't have gone on those loan application forms any quicker. The banker continued to ask me about my family and each time I answered, I piled on another layer of sap and ended with _if I could only just record these songs…for old pa…_ He proudly signed his name on the form, holding back a glint of emotion. He wished us luck endlessly, promised to buy our first record, and showed us out personally.

"Lovino… _that was amazing_." Antonio commented as we got back onto the street.

"It was a bunch of bologna is what it was."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Of course. The Lovino I know doesn't write songs about his dead father."

"I guess you're not as stupid as I thought you were."

"You think I'm stupid?"

"It's not a question, it's a statement."

He pulled his beanie out of his bag and fit it over his head. "So does my family. I guess I must be stupid."

"Well… only half stupid. You're just too…naïve, y'know? You think everything is fine and dandy all the time and it leads you to do stupid things."

"Like what?"

"Like _this_ whole thing. Why should you trust me? I'm practically a stranger."

"I already said-"

"I know what you said but _think_ about it. You showed me where you live and where your spare key is only yesterday."

"Well, what if you needed to stop by for some reason?"

"What if I were a robber?"

"Then you wouldn't rob my house."

"How do you know?"

"Because you know me and you know my family. If it were another house, maybe you would, but _I know you_ and I know that you are a very loving boy. You know that me and my family live there, you wouldn't rob it."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I guess I can't but if I don't risk, I can't gain."

"You also can't loose."

"That's no fun."

"Neither is being hurt."

"No but… problems are a gift, we use them to learn and mature."

"That's the kind of stupidness I'm talking about."

He chuckled. "Okay, maybe I'm stupid."

"Hey, are we still going to your place?"

"Yeah, unless you wanted to go somewhere else."

"When's the game going to be on?"

"Ummm… in an hour or two I think."

"Alright, let's go to your place then."

"Okay."

We returned to the familiar apartment again. We were the only ones there. Alonso and Lorenzo both worked in the police force and today they were called to be the spokesmen for the police booth in a job fair while Moddy did nails down in a little saloon. I took off my coat and sat down on the well-worn couch, feeling my sleep deprivation finally catching up with me. "Tonio?" I called.

"Yeah?" He was off in another room doing god knows what.

"Hey, wake me up when the game starts, okay?"

"You're tired?" He suddenly appeared in the doorway of him room.

"I only got a wink of sleep!"

He shrugged. "Okay." And left again. Once I had made myself comfortable, it wasn't hard to just drift off. I was peaceful and still which came as the biggest relief of my life.

When I woke up, I was a feeling panicked that I might have slept through the game and even glanced at the blank screen but all of that faded away when I heard rich music wafting through the air. It was coming from Antonio's room, a soft, sad melody that enchanted me and kept me from interrupting him.

His guitar was singing softly, working with the melody fluidly. "_Cut the bonds with the moon__…__And let the dogs gather__. __Burn the gauze in the spoon…And suck the poison up__…__And bleed…" _Graceful fingers plucked at metal chords and I fell in love, whether I wanted to or not. That's the way it is with music, that's the way it is with _Antonio_.

The words were so simple and almost meaningless yet I felt like they had a special significance meant inclusively for me. They way you feel when someone is saying something and obviously thinking about you as they say it. I sat there, star struck. All I could do was listen… it was so…I don't know, _Beautiful…_ that if I moved even an inch, I might unsettle all the air in the whole world.

"_Shut the door to the moon__…__And let the birds gather__. __Play no more with the fool__…__And let the souls wander__. __And bleed__…__From the soul_." His voice was so clear and… god, I didn't have words. My heart became tight but felt free all at once. I almost wasn't sure it was _my_ Antonio. I listened to the rest of the song. He never hesitated once, only played with the most confidence. For once, I forgot the dangers of these feeling and the pain that came with them. Instead, I selfishly lapped up the soft happiness that had fooled me once before. I waited for a moment of silence once he had finished before getting up and finding the boy.

He was sitting there on his bed, guitar resting in his lap and his wild, chocolate hair making a mess everywhere. Full, emerald, eyes looked up and locked into mine with surprise reflected on them. "Did I wake you up?" He asked. I think, in that moment, I had my first memory of feeling something like an affection for him… something that touched me as intimately as his songs.

Of course, I noticed what I was doing and resisted thinking about it. "No, I was already up." I whispered, still unable to find my voice.

"Oh, okay." A natural smile appeared on his face, making my insides warm. "Hungry?"

"What time is it?"

He looked at the clock on the far wall of his room. "One thirty."

"What about the game?" I found that I no longer cared very much.

"I put it on a tape. I figured you'd want to sleep." _Why does he do that? _Not only does he do considerate things, he takes them up a level where they're almost disgustingly nice. It's like he _knows_ what he's doing to me.

"What you were just playing… _you wrote it_?"

"Oh, yeah. Did you hear it?"

I nodded. "We should record that one too. It's good."

"You think so?" His face lit up but didn't completely conceal his embarrassment.

"Yeah, I do. Now… you mentioned food." I offered a distraction to draw the attention away from my rising blush.

"Lorenzo was here with groceries. Leftovers on the stove."

"Kay." I went to go check it out and sure enough, it was pasta. That's what I meant when I said the boy was too nice. The things he did were just little things, almost unnoticeable only… _I _noticed them. And… they made me…dare I say… appreciate him.

We left his house once we had rested up to negotiate with the studio. I never bothered to remember the manager's name because he was possibly the most bland person I had ever met. He seemed like a nice enough guy… that is, until the topic of prices came up. "Three Thousand!?" Antonio's heavily accented voice cried. "You must be crazy…_wow_… _three thousand_…"

"We can do one." I offered. I secretly liked the way Antonio admired me when I started negotiating.

"I'm already giving you a good deal here."

"He's good! Look at him!" I diverted his eyes to Antonio. "_He makes good music_."

"I'm sorry but three is-"

"It's _one_ room for_ one_ weekend."

"I just got a new sound board so, I mean, it's a pretty nice place."

"Sure it is, it really is. _One and a half_."

"I can't go that low. I can fill this place up in an hour. Some girls came by last week wanting to know about it and they said they'd be back."

"Are you mad!? Look at the kid! No pack of squealy girls is going to sell as many CDs as he will. Have you heard his music?"

"Not yet, no. I haven't got the time but-"

"Your studio will never hear such talent!"

"Look, we can talk about _two_."

"We don't talk. We shake." I held out my open hand. "Two thousand, that's all I can do."

He sighed but eventually smiled and pressed his palm to mine. "He drives a hard bargain." He commented to Antonio who nodded happily in return.

"Difficult, yes." The Spaniard replied.

"So you wanted to come in tomorrow, is that it?"

"How about today?" I looked to the Spaniard questioningly to which he shrugged and agreed

"Today's fine, I guess. Do you have a band ready and all? I've got to get the mics up but after that, we're good to go."

"I can round them up. We'll come in later then?" The Spaniard asked nervously.

"Sure. Your room is right here." He pointed to the room in front of us, a little glass box with some amps and microphone stands. It was plain but better than what we could afford. Antonio and I stepped inside, checked it out, sat for a cup of coffee and went to my place to grab some of my old sheet music.

"The place is a mess." I warned him as I jammed my key into the door and revealed my humble abode. It was simple enough. A room for the sofa, a place to put our table and chairs. It came with a galley kitchen and its own washer so I felt pretty fortunate.

That was, until I noticed the familiar stench of hard alcohol and drunken bums. Naturally, I called for Matt. His lanky limbs was strung out across his bed, a water bottle of clear liquid resting near his limp hand. Antonio followed me silently as I went on investigating, sniffing the sour-smelling bottle. I nudged his hand with my foot and demanded that he get up. "Matt." I growled. "I won't have your smelly carcass stuck in my house." His drunkenness was the most natural thing in the world. This was the only way I ever saw him, drinking was not only his hobby but his lifestyle.

He grumbled and shoved my foot away. "Go away."

"That's the plan. You smell like piss, get up and walk around or something." It was embarrassing to show Antonio this part of my life but it was inevitable. After all, my past, present, and future were filled with nothing but piss-stained drunkards.

"You don't see me complain'n." He propped himself up on his elbow. "Yur always comin' home late with yur trousers half on and a bottle in yur hand so don't give me none shit if my fly's a little undone today. I least I don't sit around sobbing about my shitty life all the time."

"Can we save this for later? Just get your fuck'n ass up and take a jog. Stay on your belly all day like that all you'll be dead in the morning."

"You've brought a guest?" Matt's eyes floated upwards to the newcomer.

I sighed. "We're only staying a minute."

"You're leaving? What for? Yur not gett'n laid, that's fur sure. Unless… is the pretty boy your special friend?" he smirked.

Anger swelled up inside me. He was such an ass! "Y'know what? I don't even care. Die or whatever. Then maybe it wouldn't reek so bad in here."

"Oh, go cry me a river! Or is that not on the schedule until Tuesday? I forget, it seems like every day is one, big, depressing, episode with you so I have a hard time remembering what the fuck is going on."

For a moment, I just stood there, too frustrated and hot-headed to say anything. "Y'know what? I'm done with this shit. I'm calling Richard, I want you the fuck out of here, yeah? Richard was Matt's older and much more successful brother. Matt couldn't stand him.

"Fuck'n Christ, man! I'll go, alright? Sammy's got an open couch, I can crash at her place if it's so much damn trouble." He grumbled and shoved his sandals on before trudging out the door.

"He'll be okay?" Antonio asked, watching the door nervously.

"Why should I care? If a car got him, it would be doing me a favor."

"Why do you let him live here if you hate him so much?"

"Can't afford the rent on my own." I lied and strode off to my room followed by Antonio. I began to rummage through an assortment of papers on my desk. "This is your room?" He asked, looking around.

"Yeah."

He walked around and finally picked up a photo frame. "Who are these people?"

I took a quick glance. "Me and my brother and my father."

"No mother?"

"No, I have a mother. She's just not in the picture."

"Oh! Okay!" Now he was able to study the picture with a smile on his face. "You look like your father."

"I try not to."

"Why?"

I gave up riffling through papers for a minute to look at him. He might as well know, "One day I'm at school and the nurse calls me up to her office. She tells me that he died in a hospital, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone or even put down the bottle. I'm not _that_ stupid."

"Oh, sorry, Lovino. I didn't…"

"No, it's whatever." I gave my attention back to the stack of papers on my desk and pressed play on the answering machine, using sound to cut the tension in the room. The first chiming voice that came over sent small shivers down my spine.

"Ciao!" The machine rang. "It's me, Feli~ You don't call me anymore. I'm starting to think that you're in trouble. Is it money? You can always come back home if-"

"No thank you." I skipped that message before he had the chance to finish his thought. He called every week to nag me about shit. He didn't think I can do anything on my own.

"Hey Baby." My muscles froze when the next voice came over the machine. My breath became pulsed gasps and my throat hitched. "It's me again. Listen, I'm really missing you. I wish you would call back sometimes." My hand twitched, trying to move just a bit so that I could shut off the player. "I mean, the weather's really great out here. You've always loved the sunny weather and if you would just take a little trip out here, I would take you down to see the water. It would be-"

In that moment, something surged through me and I suddenly regained control of my limbs. I stood briskly, ripping that fuck'n machine right off its chord and chucking it hard out of the open window. I heard it smash into a dumpster but I didn't have the luxury of seeing its demise. I had my hands over my eyes, trying to keep in the anger-induced tears from spilling. Why!? Why did the calls never stop? Why did that voice chatter on as if it had never hurt me? Why didn't it just leave me the fuck alone!

"Lovino?" A Spanish voice asked in panic.

"I'm fine." I growled before he had the chance to put a hand on my shoulder. I hate it. All of it. I hate that voice and the constant reminders. It's always there, waiting on my heels. Every day, there's a new recording and there's memorabilia lying around that opens old scars. I just wanted it to be over and gone.

Silence. I stayed exactly where I was, staring blankly at the window and imagining that I could fly out of it. How did I become this? I lived in a cheap apartment in the slums and gutters with a man who must be my father reborn . Every day, I went to work fixing hoovers even though I spent three years studying computer programing in college. Every day was a repeat. What I did five years ago, I was still doing. I was stuck in a ditch that I couldn't get out of. Every wall was caving in on me, I felt helpless, I was tired.

If everyone has a guardian angel, then where the hell was mine? Who's looking out for the poor, dirty, drunken, Italian kid? I wasn't asking to win the lottery and I knew that miracles are hard to come by I just wanted things to go right for a change. This couldn't have been all my fault, could it? I couldn't have done this all to myself. I couldn't have caused this…

"Lovino?" I turned around to a sympathetic smile. He held up a couple pages of sheet music. "I found them, they were laying here beneath the lamp."

"Oh, thanks." I mumbled, whipping my sleeve against the dampness on my face.

"Do you want to leave? You can stay at my place tonight if it would make you happy."

"No, I'm fine. I can't run away from my own apartment."

"But you want to?"

I didn't answer.

"Do you want to run away from your life?"

"Sure I do." I decided. "Who doesn't?"

"Someone's who's happy."

"I_ am_ happy."

"You are happy? Well, you are also a very good actor then."

"What the hell does_ that_ mean?"

"Happy people smile much more."

"Not everyone is the same fuck'n soppy, smiling, idiot that you are, Antonio. I can't just be that, I can't be _you_."

"You're misreading me, Lovino! I just meant that I want you to be the person you are when you're making music, that's the true Lovino."

"The _true me_? When I'm shouting profanities about my shit life, that's the _real_ me? I guess you hit the nail right on the head. My father was a drunk, my brother outshone me, my education went to shit, my business plans fell through, my ex slept around and here I am. I drink too much, I piss people off, and I go nowhere."

"Lovino…" He whimpered, seeing how pathetic and lonely I truly was under my strife. I didn't know how to hide from him. My hostility never turned him away like it had everyone else. "Let's go get diner, okay? I'll take you to a café like I promised."

I scoffed yet couldn't help my smile from peeking out. He was doing it again, changing the subject using just a charming smile. I decided to play along. "We ate not too long ago."

His smile came back and I was relieved. I hold my breath when he frowns. "Food is always good."

"You can say that again."

"So we can go?"

"Sure. This place needs to air out anyways. It's getting depressing in here, isn't it?"

He nodded. "You should spend the night at my place."

"Why? So we could hanky panky?"

He laughed. "No, no hanky panky. It could be like when we were kids. We would put on our pajamas and watch a movie."

"You mean a slumber party?"

He ignored me, presumably because he didn't know of the word slumber party. "This is you and your brother?" He held up a glossy photo Feliciano had sent me.

"Oh, I need to get a frame for that. Yeah, that's us. We look pretty alike."

"He looks like a child."

"He's a year and a half younger."

He looked at me then the picture. "He is cute," My heart sunk and my eyes dropped to the floor with shame. Of course he's cute, he always has been. He's been the one people want to hug and kiss all the damn time. "But _you're_ beautiful." Antonio suddenly interjected.

I looked up, unsure I had heard him right. He called me beautiful… at least…I thought he did. But men don't call each other beautiful, especially not strangers, especially not people who have long histories of relationship issues. But…still… he had said I was _beautiful_…

Antonio sensed my awe and laughed nervously, setting the picture back down and pulling at the little hairs on the nape of his neck. "Perhaps that wasn't the right word. Handsome. You look very handsome."

That damn liar. He spoke English well enough to know exactly what he was saying and the way he said it… he _meant_ it. He was just trying to keep me from worrying myself over it. "Oh, yeah okay." I dismissed and retrieved the sheet music. "We can go."

"Yeah, sure."

So we went out to Dublin, back to the street we had met on, and we had tea while yammering on about our plans for the recording. He managed to get me to talk about my father and what the man had taught me. I told him about how he hated not being able to play the violin and how he took up recreational drinking. It turned from recreational to therapeutic to addictive to life-consuming. There were good stories too. I told him about when I was young, practicing Vivaldi in the early mornings and Mozart after diner. I considered Antonio my friend. I could tell him about myself without the terrible fear of ridicule and I could give him a ring if I ever ended up bloody in an ally.

From there, we walked in and out of shops and continued our conversation until we had branched off into our deepest fears and favorite meals. He was a fantastic listener. Best of all, he never gave me that judgmental face that you spare for some bum who's down on his luck. He just got me. he never looked at me like I needed pity or like I was a dirty, gritty, street rat.

In returned, I looked at him like he was the most amazing person I'd ever met. I didn't know someone like him could exist and I refused to believe it. people always have ulterior motives, they always want to get in your pants or use your misfortune to make them feel smarter. Antonio wasn't like that, he was kind upon instinct. I felt an overwhelming need to be his bodyguard. Of course, not in the sense that I'd be able to beat people up but in the sense that I wanted to keep him from being taken advantage of. I wanted to savor that amazing innocence, I wanted to keep crooks and scum from teaching him the hard lessons of life. Still, I couldn't help but remind myself that _I_ was an example of a crook and scum.

Antonio's family met us at the studio later that night. Lorenzo stuck his claim on the drums while Moddy was on the tambourine. Alonso, like his brother, picked up a guitar and I fit in snugly behind the piano. For the first few minutes, we all tuned our instruments by rehearsing bits of different songs which earned us confused stares from the manager. Finally it was Antonio who called as all to silence, plucked a few chords and set us on our parts before declaring that we were ready to begin.

The manager smiled encouragingly and said "Track one, take one." Before fiddling with the bord then nodding to us.

"Alright guys, here it goes." Antonio whispered, smiling nervously at everyone. He took a deep breath, bobbed his head, then began to play.

We started off nice and slow, like practiced, just Antonio and I. When Antonio played, music became a tangible thing. I could close my eyes and let my hands follow his beat out of their own instinct. The way he could feel music was a feeling I understood. He leaned into the microphone with his eyes closed, "_So_," He sang softly, "_If you ever want something…and you call, call…and I'll come running to fight_."

He spoke kindly to the microphone, imagining the face the song was written for. "_And I'll be at your door when there's nothing worth running for_."

I closed my eyes and joined him singing, still tapping my fingers into the keys and pawing at the pedals, gradually becoming more passionate. "_When your mind's made up…"_

The song grew and grew until Antonio was strumming violently and releasing his words with thick shadows of emotion. He stomped his foot on the wooden ground to keep the beat and didn't open his eyes again until the song was over and his hands fell limp from their position on the strings. We all looked around at each other and held our breath even after the Spaniard nodded his head to signal that it was over. We weren't sure what we had just created. Every one of us felt the same anger and frustration and desperation that Antonio had when he'd written the song.

"That's a rap." The manager's voice declared over the speaker, finally breaking the silence. Antonio was the first to smile and then one by one it was spread.

"_Ya write that yourself_?" Alonso, the oldest, asked in astonishment?

Antonio nodded shyly.

"It's fuck'n brilliant." Lorenzo interrupted before the other could say it first.

Antonio blushed like a madman and began stroking and tuning his guitar for distraction. "If I weren't so starved, I might have written a song of happiness."

The brothers laughed and congratulated each other. From then on out, the fear of recording was gone. We would chat with one another, record a song, have some tea, chat some more, and go back to recording. We took a ten minute break at midnight when Moddy, Lorenzo and Alonso wanted to run to the burrito place down the block. Antonio opted to stay in the recording booth and check over the last track so I went looking for the bathroom.

Instead of a toilet, I found the live room and decided to check it out. The lights were off and the only switch I could find lit a lamp that sat on the lid of a grand piano. I left the door slightly ajar and found my way onto the bench.

It was a beautiful instrument, mint condition, tuned _perfectly_. I didn't see a point in fighting the urge so I let my hands position themselves and play. I played another song I had written. The pristine instrument made my tragedy seem so beautiful.

"_Walking up the hill tonight when you have close your eyes… I wish I didn't have to make all those mistakes and be wise. Please try to be patient and know that I'm still learning…"_ I wrote the song to appease my tiredness and my heartbreak. It was never easy to sing because it always, without fail, gave me those feelings back.

I glanced up and saw the silhouette figure of Antonio in the doorway then lowered it again and continued to play. He took that as my consent and sat down beside me. As much as I wanted to hide this part of me, it felt so great to let it escape from me into someone else. "_I'm sorry that you have to see the strength inside me burning. Where are you my angel now? Don't you see me crying? And I know that you can't do it all but you can't say I'm not trying_."

The boy sat quietly and listened. As I got deeper into the song, I was unable to deny the pain swelling inside of me. I remembered what it felt like to constantly wonder if I was enough or what parts of me were wrong. I remembered never expressing my unhappiness because I didn't want to upset the whole balance of our relationship… I didn't want to stop being loved. I wrote this song and played it to that person to tell them through music what I couldn't with my words… they didn't like it.

"_And I'm letting myself down by satisfying you and I wish that you could see I have my troubles, too._" I choked up after that line and could make nothing else come out but hot tears. Without saying a word, Antonio took me into his arms and held me there.

"Lovino?" He asked after an appropriate length of silence.

I pushed out of his hold. "What."

"Lovino_, I love you_." He admitted, looking me in the eyes.

I dried my cheek again. "You don't mean that. Pity and love are confusing feelings."

"No, that's not what I mean. I never pity you, you know that."

"No, I don't know _anything_. Can't you tell? Whatever you think I have, I can assure you that I don't. I have nothing to give you so you can stop trying."

"Trying what? I have nothing to gain from you except happiness."

"Bull shit." I stood from the bench. "Happiness isn't a word I'm affiliated with. Let's not talk love, okay?"

"Why not?" He stood as well.

"Because it's not something for people like us."

"I don't see _why_!"

"Because! Look, you're probably just horny real bad. I'm the last person you want, I can assure you."

"That's unfair Lovino! I would never confess my love just to bed someone!"

"You wouldn't have to! They would say yes without the confession because you're so damn happy and kind and attractive. You can have anyone so just… _leave me alone_."

"Lovino, I-"

"_Don't._" I scolded and turned away from him. "I have my own problems. Go back to your girl and her child, you're not going to find what you're looking for here." And with that, I locked myself in the bathroom and finished crying.

I both hated and loved the idea of Antonio having feeling for me. On one hand, he was the only person who'd loved me in a long time. I imagined us saving up to buy a house and making our own music every day. On the other hand was reality where I knew what would _happen_. We would become crazy for each other. We'd sleep together, I'd trust him, I'd tell him all my fears and insecurities and then two years later he'd turn around and use them against me. In the end, I'd still be broke and I would still drink too much only it would hurt so much more.

They sent Moddy to get me when we were ready to start recording again. She brought me a cup of coffee and asked what Antonio had dome to me since they were all wondering but Antonio wouldn't say anything. I decided that if Antonio didn't want to say then I shouldn't either. I answered by saying that I had just embarrassed myself and that I was fine to go back.

Antonio did that thing where he made it all better by smiling and talking about a television show. It should have been awkward and I should have avoided him like the plague but I couldn't. He always won me back. He always had a way of making me smile and laugh at his jokes. I guess I liked him too much for my own good.

We kept going at it for a couple hours. I forgot my sadness, something that was very hard for me to do. We ended up ordering pizza and comparing stories about our work. By the time five rolled around, we had completed twelve tracks and were on our way to the beach since none of us really felt like sleeping. The best way to test if a cd's any good is to play it from a crumby sound system and we couldn't find anything worse than Lorenzo's van.

I fell in love with Antonio very quickly. Love was just as quick and vicious as I remembered it being. It came so suddenly and ate me all up so that no part of me would survive the blow. In the next few days, we spent more time together, he even let me write lyrics for one of his unfinished songs. We took trips up to the mountains on his motorcycle and walked through the city but I never once told him how I felt. Instead, I put it into a song, wrote some sheet music, and packed it away with all my other unsung songs until Antonio discovered it at the music store one day while rummaging through my folders, looking for something to play.

"Lovi, play this one~" He handed it to me and I looked it over, blushing.

"Not this one."

"Why not? Is it about that person?"

"No… it's about someone else."

"Play it! I want to hear!"

"Okay but… the lyrics are pretty rough. I'm still working on it." I set it up on the piano and readied my hands while he scooted closer to so that he could read the sheet music and play along with his guitar. I started slowly so that he could work his way in.

"_I don't know you but I want you all the more for that…_"

He smiled briefly and joined at the next verse. "Words fall through me and always fool me and I can't react. Games that never amounted to more than they're meant will play themselves out."

I had never sung with him so closely before but it felt right. It felt like we were connect in a way deeper than conversation. I was in love with him. I was in love with his curly brown hair and wide smile, I was in love with his piercing green eyes and his endless good humor and the way he could touch my heart just by strumming on some metal strings. I was in love with him. "_Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time. Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice. You'll made it now_."

I could tell by the way he sang that he knew who I had written this for and he _meant_ what he said back in the live booth. I didn't want to give him up but I didn't want to fall any farther in love so instead I sang. "_Falling slowly, eyes that know me and I can't go back_."

When the music finally ceased and our eyes rose to meet the other's, I was sure he was going to confess again. His eyes looked so pure with emotion and so concentrated on me that I thought…

"I'm going back to Spain…" He admitted, driving a nail through my heart.

"_You're what_?" I whispered.

"For a couple months, I need to reevaluate my life, I need to figure out what I want."

"When?" Was all I could manage to say.

"My train leaves tonight."

"When were you going to tell me?!"

"I-I didn't think you would mind!"

"I _do_ mind, dammit!"

"You do?"

"I…I don't know…" Dammit, why couldn't I just say it? It was obvious by the way he hung his head that he had wanted me to say it too.

"It's been hard for me to say good bye so… I took you here. I want to give you something."

"What?"

"This." He ran his hand along the piano tenderly.

"Th-The…"

"Yeah, the piano. You need one and one needs you. I can't leave without thanking you."

"For what?"

"For…for introducing yourself that once on the street corner."

"You can't afford something like this, Antonio."

"_I can_. Our album is doing pretty well. I think I can probably buy a house in a year or so."

"You don't have to-"

But before I could finish he moved in and placed a soft kiss on my cheek. "_It's yours_. Steward won't take returns."

"So… you're leaving."

He nodded again, still smiling but the smile was weary and saddening. "I have to get going pretty soon."

"Maybe, if you come back… you can give me a call and we'll have some coffee, yeah?"

He let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, sounds good. If you ever need something, you can go to Alonso or Lorenzo or you can call me. I'll always pick up."

"Okay."

"We could grab a bite to eat. I've got a while before I have to go." I shook my head, I didn't feel like eating. "Do you want to take a walk instead?"

"I want to hear you play." I was going to miss that idiot. It felt unfair. Every time I thought I had something, it was ripped away. I had only known him for a week and a half, which I was glad for because ripping the Band-Aid off slowly hurts more.

I wished he would go home and reconnect with his wife and make things work. I wished he would find a good job and watched the child grow up to become a functioning adult and that he could move away to a little house in the mountains. But still… I _wanted_ him to stay. I wanted him to take me into his arms and say that he was just kidding. I wanted him to confess his love again and take me to the beach on the back of his motorcycle so we could joke around and play games and fall in love.

He began to play my song again but this time he didn't need the sheet music so he looked at me dead on and made the wound burn worse. I listened to him play and said nothing up until he had to go and I was forced to wave goodbye then retreat to my apartment.

I dropped my bag on my bed and pushed play on my CD player so that his voice could fill the room. It wasn't meant to be. He came into my life and brought along sunshine and music and happiness and yet he couldn't stay. He passed like a wind, bringing change and retreating to its secret abode, never meant to be pinned down. Now the fantasy was over and we had to retreat to our own lives with our own problems. We had to stop pretending like we could run around all willy-nilly, making music and singing songs.

I laid my head down and listened. "_And I love him so… I wouldn't trade him for gold_."

I hated him for putting me in this position but I would forgive him a hundred times if he stayed. He'd break my heart but I'd forgive him after a good punch to the jaw. He'd made me frustrated, he'd make me cry and scream and fight… he'd make me _smile_. He would make me laugh away every tear I've ever cried. We would sing when the weather was crumby and sleep when the world was just too harsh.

I wanted him. I'd never wanted anything as bad as I wanted Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the smelly, stupid, busker. I wanted him like I wanted sunlight and fresh air. I wanted him more than I wanted to sit around in my own self-pity, dammit!

With my heart racing, I slung my bag over my shoulder and sped out the door, praying I wouldn't be too late.

.

.

.

All songs used in this story are from the musical and independent film, Once. They are listed below in order of appearance.

Antonio's recording at the bank: Sleeping- Glen Hansard watch?v=AcOdBNXE1FA

Antonio's song at his apartment: The Moon- Glen Hansard watch?v=uOE2XiSdjBc

Song from the recording studio: When your mind's made up- Glen Hansard (Movie scene, fairly accurate to story) watch?v=IPL5Qk4JufU

Lovino's live room song: The Hill- Marketa Irglova watch?v=vlWpeft_5CI

Music store song: Falling Slowly- Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova watch?v=FkFB8f8bzbY

Last scene Lovino's apartment song: Gold- Glen Hansard (Lyrics changed for gender specificity) watch?v=TA2goKmxwxQ


	3. Encore

STRANGERS

_Encore_

No one ever knows what they've lost until it's gone, it's a pretty shitty reality.

There I was, sprinting down the block and cursing at myself as the best thing I'd ever known slipped through my grasp like sand in an hourglass. Every second that passed, a few more grains of white sand would escape, he would become farther from my desperate grasp and my hope would disintegrate until it approached near hopeless.

Fuck him… fuck _me_, dammit! I was such an idiot! I just let him leave without saying anything! Why couldn't I have just told him what I was feeling? Why couldn't I say that I wanted him to stay?

Of course not, I never say what I feel. He could have looked me in the eyes and declared his love to me and I would have just blown him off. In fact, that's exactly what I did. It was my profession, destroying happiness. It was the only thing I was good at and I never failed to kill of any sliver of sunlight that had crossed my path. I couldn't do it again, not this time, not to Antonio. I wasn't a genius but I knew a miracle when I met one. I knew that second chances were always rare occurrences and I knew that I loved Antonio.

I stopped only once and it was to notice the busker who had taken Antonio's place on the corner. The replacement was a young kid I had never seen before wielding a crumby acoustic guitar and singing much softer than the Spaniard. I dished ten euro from my pocket, an abnormally high donation, and dropped it in his case for good luck. I wasn't one for superstition but even _I_ could use a little luck.

I tried once or twice to hail a cab but the streets were too busy and cabbies preferred to pick up friendly girls or young business men so when I finally stumbled onto the platform, his departure time had passed by twelve minutes. Antonio had chosen to leave by train because the idiot was afraid of flying and would instead meet Alfonso's friend in Northern Ireland and get a free ride to a ferry. Maybe he was already on his way.

I looked around for the boy everywhere, hoping he had missed it or that maybe the whole thing was a joke and he was actually at home having a nap. I punched his number into my cellphone only to be greeted by his answering machine. "Antonio?" I asked the phone. What would I say? I didn't know what to say! I didn't- "_Stay…please_." The words I meant to say were not the ones that had come out of my mouth. I ended the call and threw the phone back into my bag.

I called his name once or twice only to be ignored by the mass of luggage-bearing strangers with their noses in maps. Maybe he way already gone… maybe I had lost what I couldn't get back. Everyone was too god damn tall and I couldn't see over their god damn heads… and it was too god damn loud and even if Antonio _was_ there, he wouldn't have heard me. Dammit! I began to cry with frustration, something I did all too often. I rubbed my rough jacket sleeve against my eyes until they were irritated and sore.

"Hey…" A voice called out. I ignored it because I didn't want some sappy do-gooder asking me what was wrong and telling me to follow my heart. "Lovi?" I looked up and saw Antonio in a train car, wrestling past the other passengers and hopping out onto the platform. "Lovi, why are you here?"

"What? I should be asking you the same thing!"

"I don't leave for another fifteen minutes. I didn't think you'd be so eager for me to go."

Dammit, Lovino, now's not the time to be difficult. "I'm not! That is…I just mean that I got to missing you some."

"I haven't left yet." He pointed out.

"Yeah, I just… I want you to stay here."

Surprisingly, he smiled sadly and touched my shoulder. "I can't stay because you want me to. I have _two_ people who want me back in Spain, you're out voted."

"Where do _you_ want to be?"

"I don't know… I thought that if I came here I would start a new life and I_ have_ but… maybe I should go back to where I'm wanted. If I'm not making something of myself here then I think I should take on some extra responsibility where it's needed."

"But you're wanted here!"

"By who?" He prodded.

"Your family…" Once I said that, he looked away with the same disappointment he had shown in the music shop when I couldn't admit that I would miss him. "_And me_. I want you here."

His smile returned but not nearly as happy or forgiving as usual. "You're stubborn. You ignore my confessions, you hide from my affection and yet you want me to drop everything to stay here with you?"

"Yes." I didn't know what else to say. It was selfish and stupid but it was the only sound my throat could make.

"I wish I could afford to take risks like that… I wish I had all the time in the world to figure you out and win you over but that's not the case. She wants me back at home and I want to be useful again."

"What should I say, Antonio?"

"Say you're okay with me leaving and that you'll be happy here on your own."

"I can't say that."

"_Then say that you love me_."

"_What_?"

"You heard me. Make me believe you're in for the long haul and maybe I'll change my mind."

"Antonio, I've only known you for _one week_."

"And yet I'm head-over-heels for you, that's the danger of it. _You're_ the danger. You're incredible, I'm afraid that I'll only fall more hopelessly in love with you and never have my affection requited. I can't spend years arguing about what's friendship and what's burning desire."

"Give me time! Please, I don't even know _myself_!"

"Is ten minutes enough time for you?"

"Can you stay a little longer?"

"I can't wait on this anymore, Lovino. My love is the kind that has to be felt completely, I can't go on pretending like it doesn't exist."

"Why _now_ though? Why do you have to do this to me _now_?" My frustration showed again in the most pathetic way possible, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.

"I believe this is what's called a crossroad." He held my cheek and used his thumb to rub away a tear. "I'll let you make the choice, _Dearest Lovino_. Should I get my bags or join them?"

"I…I… I'm so sorry…" I sobbed. We were now drawing attention.

"For what?"

"For making this so hard on us."

"It doesn't have to be hard." He leaned in, his breath soft, and pressed his warm lips against mine in a way that made my heart beat wildly and consumed my thoughts with nothing but desire and happiness. Dammit, it was true. I loved him.

He pulled away and looked into my eyes, asking silently for my answer, which I whispered as softly as I could under my breath.

Antonio closed his eyes as a relieved smile slid up his cheeks. "Say it again." He mumbled.

"I love you." I repeated, only the tiniest bit louder but blaringly loud to the Spanish boy who engulfed me I his arms and laughed richly.

"You're making a scene." I scolded, unable to hide my own weak smile.

"_I'm happy, dammit_." I thought there might be a twinge of emotion in his voice but he hid it well.

"You'll forgive me then?" I finally broke his hold and went back to nervously pulling at my hair.

"_Soon_. You caused a lot of trouble, you know that? But you're worth it. The heart-ache, the confusion, the frustration, even the packing and ticket were worth it. Now I have you, don't I?"

I diverted my eyes and blushed.

"_Don't I_?" He repeated.

"Dammit, Antonio. Nobody _has_ me, I'm a grown-ass man! But I guess… if you want to talk more philosophically then _yes_, you…have me."

He kissed my forehead once then twice then three times and ran off, saying that he had to get his bags before they left with them. As I watched him clamber into the train car, I had my first good, deep, breath in a long time. Loving somebody is one of the most demanding responsibilities you can take on. For that reason, cowards like me blind themselves to the world and keep only fantasies for company. Antonio was a different kind of person, there was nothing he liked better than a challenge. He took confidence in his stride. If he decided to love somebody, he would do so with his whole heart and never fear the possibility of emotional wreckage.

My love for him was something of a ravenous disease. Granted, it was much more rose-tinted than you'd expect a disease to be but it was taxing and life-consuming none-the-less. I came to know it in the smallest infection, a scrape of the knee, a song to the heart. From there, it found its way into my bloodstream and resisted all my defenses until it had poisoned every inch of my being. It laid dormant in wait and attacked only when I felt the most confident.

It thrived on my desire to praised and my hysterical impulses to give and receive affection. It swelled with years of unsatisfied lust. It propelled itself from the ashes of those relationships which had caused only flame because there was a part of me that wanted vengeance on my own heart. There was a part of me that wanted to prove that I could be loved. I wanted to find the person who would convince me that I was important and special and treasured.

Antonio came into my life like a ravenous disease. He took everything in his path without asking and left me weak at his mercy. He threw me into emotional turmoil day after day. I should have feared him. I should have feared love but I didn't. Pain is addicting, I suppose. The kind of pain they call love. Or maybe… it's not pain at all but a disguised form of happiness…

"Okay, Lovi, I'm ready to go." He said, strolling up to me with two suitcases rolling behind him. "Y'know… if you want, you can move in with me and my family. The apartment seems cramped but it's just cozy."

"I don't think I could be within the close proximity of more than two people for longer than an hour."

"Well, I could move into your place too."

"No."

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"Antonio… my life isn't friendly and pretty like yours is. It would drive you mad to live in my apartment."

"Fine, I'll get you a house and we can live there. How about that?"

"Can you really afford a house?"

"Not now, no, but after our second record we'll probably be able to get a nice one in the country."

"A second record?"

"Of course! I still have so many songs to sing!"

"What about Spain? Will they not miss you?"

"They didn't even know I was coming. I guess I was scared too, I was hoping you would stop me. I've already sent her a good amount of our profits, I doubt I could do much else for them."

"So what's left for us?"

"Of the profits?"

I shook my head, trying to conceal a smile. "Of everything else. Where do we go from here?"

"First, I have to leave my bags at home then we might as well celebrate."

"How?"

"I don't know…" He sighed teasingly. "Maybe we could go out for a cup of coffee, listen to good music, philosophize…get to know each other."

"Is that your way of trying to get into my pants?"

"You said it, not me."

I socked him in the arm and he laughed, kissing the top of my hair and bombarding me with flattery all the way back to him house.

Winning is a good feeling but you appreciate it best after a hard losing streak. After war, we realize how much we value peace and prosperity. After needing for so long, receiving is like the first breath after being strangled. Love, loss, and life are the three words that are hardest to understand. Someday, somebody will come by and you will not be expecting them. They will thrust you into a word of questions and you will seek only for the answers. You will want to know what life is and why we must love so deeply and only through that person will you be able to quench your thirst for answers.

I never decided to love Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, he was simply brought to me as I was brought to him and through that, we found our answers. In a world where we collide, were we choose to treasure or disregard the strangers we meet, I have never regretted my decisions for I have found my greatest story.

THE END


End file.
